


I love the things you hate about yourself.

by Havokftw



Series: A wolf and a kitten walk into a bar [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bottom Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Casual Sex, Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboys & Catgirls, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jihoon shifts into a kitten, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Pining, Shapeshifting, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Trust Issues, Were-Creatures, Werewolves, kitten jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: “Don’t you dare start laughing. Don’t you dare.” Jihoon replies, fingernails digging painfully into the heels of his hands. He wants to scratch that happy look right off Seungcheol’s face“I’m not laughing. What’s there to laugh about?” Seungcheol says, in a strangely sensible tone of voice.Jihoon makes a wild gesture over his head that manages beautifully to convey none of what he wants it to. “I have ears!”No, wait—that doesn’t sound right.“More ears than I should!”





	I love the things you hate about yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> For Shinu, who draws some of the loveliest things on twitter and has my heart melting every time she draws Kitten!Hoon and Puppy!Cheol. 
> 
> I don't think Shinu has an AO3 account, so I can't gift this fic directly, but please check out her art on twitter :)  
> [Shinu](https://twitter.com/teascoup)

Seungcheol is halfway through a dream involving the ocean, a lobster and beautiful Merboy that repeatedly throws trout at him, when his phone starts vibrating. He's already reaching for it, before he's fully shaken off the _disturbing_ and equally _arousing_ image of fish hole coitus. What the hell was that about?

He manages to knock half his stuff onto the floor, body not well trained to react to night-time disruptions. He squints at the screen in the darkness, before he hits the button.

“Someone better be dead.” Seungcheol says round a yawn as he answers.

There’s an indrawn breath across the line. Then: “Cheol?”

Seungcheol bolts upright in bed at the sound of Jihoon’s voice.

“Jihoon, hey!” He scrubs a hand over his face and squints at the alarm clock. “Christ, what are you doing awake? You sound disgustingly alert. Are you okay?”

“Nothing, there’s no – sorry, it’s just – shit.” Jihoon says, sounding frustrated and a bit flustered, as if Seungcheol is the one who’s called him.

Seungcheol allows himself to relax, settling back against the pillows. “Let’s have it, then. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call at this god-forsaken hour?”

“It’s nothing,” Jihoon says, sounding...not normal, exactly. A few shades off normal.

He doesn't sound happy. He sounds out of breath, and a little panicked, through the phone.

“Seriously, Cheol, it’s not – look, I just, I’m having some problems with, uh.”

“…with?” Seungcheol prompts, when Jihoon doesn’t continue.

“Impulse control,” Jihoon says stiffly. He clears his throat. “I mean. Sort of, I guess. I just, you _know_.”

Seungcheol thinks that over for a moment, rubbing his eye. “Are you asking me to – “

“I’m not asking anything,” Jihoon snaps. He’s past tense and well into edgy.

Seungcheol can practically hear the muscle in his jaw jumping.

Then there's a rough exhale, too loud and too close. “Jesus, I’m sorry Cheol, just – go back to sleep, okay? Sorry to bother you. It won’t happen again.”

“Jihoon, wait!” Seungcheol says.

He waits for the exhale of resignation or the sound of the line cutting off.

There's a silence on the other end; and then, “What.”

“Are you—in heat?” Seungcheol asks, fighting down a ridiculous sort of smile.

He can  _hear_  Jihoon flushing, practically squirming with discomfort. In another moment he’ll apologize again, end the call, and then he’ll go back to jacking off miserably, the way he’s probably done all night.

But Jihoon sounds slightly less agitated when he huffs and admits, “Yes.”

“I’ll be right over.” Seungcheol says brightly, fighting his way out of the sheets, phone jammed between ear and shoulder, already trying to find his jeans before his eyes have properly adjusted to the dark.

He loves nothing more than a Felid in heat, and everything that comes with it.

Even though he the one who called him first, even though he’s getting what he wants, Jihoon still manages to make it sound like he’s tremendously put out.

“Okay. _Fine_.”

* * *

 

“This explains why you were in such a bad mood this week.” Seungcheol says when he appears at Jihoon’s door later. He’s soft-eyed, wearing a decidedly foolish grin.

He’s also fully dressed and Jihoon is illogically furious with him for it.

“Take off all your clothes!”

Seungcheol breathes out a laugh, his canines a dangerous glint in the streetlights.

“What? Right here on the doorstep?”

Jihoon huffs through his nose and drags Seungcheol over the threshold, not caring that the door knob is probably digging into the man’s back painfully as he shoves him up against it and presses their mouths together.

The angle makes it difficult, and he feels Seungcheol laugh into the kiss as their teeth clack together awkwardly. There are hands on his hips, steadying him, then Seungcheol tilts his head slightly and  _oh_ , that’s perfect.  Jihoon mewls appreciatively.

“Fuck, Kitten,” Seungcheol says, breaking away to pepper kisses along Jihoon’s jaw. “Fuck, you’re eager, aren’t you? You don’t have to be a martyr you know, trying to handle this by yourself. I’ll always make time to take care of you during your heats, all you have to do is _tell me_.”

“Shut up!” Jihoon snaps.

It wasn’t until Seungcheol answered that Jihoon realized what he was doing. Deep in the throes of heat, he dialled the number without even thinking — instinct overriding logic.

_Stupid fucking heat._

Jihoon grips Seungcheol’s shoulder with one hand and presses him harder against the door; his other hand snakes around Seungcheol’s neck and drags him into another kiss. “Stop talking. I didn’t mean to—I have no control over my actions when I’m like this.”

Seungcheol hums doubtingly, but kisses back obligingly.

The laziness of the gesture is almost irritating – how  _dare_  he make fun, when he’s  _here_  and it’s clear from the gradually hardening line of his cock in his trousers that Seungcheol wants this  _just as much_  as Jihoon does.

Jihoon presses into the kiss more insistently, a low growl in his throat that threatens to bubble over into a snarl as the kiss turns harsh and demanding.

The hands at his hips tighten to the point of painful and Jihoon pulls away with a hiss. He looks up to meet Seungcheol’s oddly stern expression.

“Hey. None of that now,” Seungcheol tells him. “Play nice.”

Jihoon  _does_  snarl then, baring his teeth. He moves to kiss Seungcheol again, pulling him down by the nape of his neck.

Seungcheol doesn’t budge. Instead, Jihoon finds himself being pushed back, back, back until he hits the wall, with Seungcheol crowding close.

They’re pressed together from chest to thigh, their faces a scant breath away from each other.

“I said  _play nice_.” The rumble of Seungcheol’s voice sends shivers down Jihoon’s spine. He licks his lips and glares up at Seungcheol. “That’s my good kitten.”

“I’m not your kitten,” Jihoon snaps, without heat.

Seungcheol’s laughter ghosts over Jihoon’s cheek and he finds himself chasing those full lips despite himself. “Seungcheol–”

He’s cut off when Seungcheol leans forward and catches his mouth, taking advantage of Jihoon’s parted lips to delve inside and slide their tongues together.

A muffled whimper escapes his throat before he can catch himself; he tightens his hold on the nape of Seungcheol’s neck and presses himself closer. Seungcheol growls in approval, surging forward and tugging at Jihoon’s hips until he finally catches on and hitches himself up against Seungcheol’s body.

Seungcheol’s hands slide down to palm his ass in response, hoisting him until Jihoon is pinned against the wall, the balls of his feet barely brushing the floor. He breaks away with a gasp.

“What –  _here?_ ”

“Here,” Seungcheol says. He rolls his hips firmly against Jihoon’s ass, eliciting a whine. “Right here.”

There are some advantages to having a werewolf as your booty call—if you look past the incessant biting and possessive nuzzling and unpleasant hygiene issues that arise when Seungcheol insists on knotting for hours on end. (Though Jihoon will privately admit to enjoying having his throat licked when they’re tied together.)

Seungcheol is patient and attentive, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice to be there for Jihoon in his heat. But the best part, by far, is Seungcheol's strength and stamina, particularly when combined.

“The bed is literally right here,” Jihoon says, his legs hooked over Seungcheol's elbows, a hot cradle of muscle, and his back braced stickily against the wall. They’d made a mess of the living room, and now they’re making a mess of Jihoon’s bedroom too. The papers and things that had lain across his dresser are now strewn across the floor; cooling sweat-prints and drops of cum stain the surface of the wood.

Seungcheol growls and bites at his throat.

“Stop talking.” He says, echoing Jihoon’s words from before.

Jihoon doesn't mind obeying. He likes this position, even though his thigh and stomach muscles are cramping, even though his hips thump into the wall with Seungcheol's every energetic thrust and the sweat between his shoulder blades makes his skin cling to the wallpaper. He likes this position because his tail hangs free, so it can thrash all it wants.

He flings a hand out to help support himself and ends up sending a framed painting clattering to the floor. Seungcheol growls again and suddenly his hands, braced against the wall, are at Jihoon's lower back, and he's lifting him effortlessly without pulling out.

Jihoon immediately grabs his shoulders and digs his nails in to cling on, his tail instinctively going stiff for balance, while Seungcheol turns, staggers the few steps toward the bed and drops Jihoon onto it, landing atop him.

The thrust of his swollen cock inside Jihoon when they hit the bed causes a most intense sensation, and Jihoon can't help it; the sounds bursts out of his throat before he can catch it a breath later.

Judging by Seungcheol's expression, and the way his wolf ears perk up with interest, he doesn't miss it.

“You purred,” he says, grinning—well, wolfishly.

“That wasn't a purr.” Jihoon tries, awkwardly, to kick at his lower back with one heel. “Keep fucking me.”

“You purred.” Seungcheol drops his head and nuzzles Jihoon's neck, nosing under his jaw and licking up the sweat he finds there. “Purr for me again, kitten. Or I'll wring it out of you. I'll keep you here, riding my cock all night, until you've come so many times you can't even speak, all you can do is purr for me when I fuck you deeper and faster ...”

Jihoon groans, clenching involuntarily and scoring Seungcheol's back with his nails.

His tail curls up stiffly and he doesn't even realize it until the curve of it is tickling Seungcheol's balls.

Immediately Seungcheol swears and presses him down, until he's folded Jihoon in half, the better to plunder him utterly. He fucks Jihoon's hole relentlessly, taking what he needs, and Jihoon's already come once but he can feel that he's well on the way to a second orgasm.

Seungcheol bites his neck, hard, and the sounds leave Jihoon's throat without his knowledge or permission: little cat-grumblings of arousal that eventually climb into throbbing, hitching purrs on each inhale and exhale.

“I can feel you purring inside.” Seungcheol slides deep on each thrust. He buries his nose in Jihoon's hair. “Fuck, you smell so good. You don't purr for anyone else, do you? Only for me. You know you're mine. My little kitten.”

He braces his weight on one arm and wraps his other hand around Jihoon's cock, hard again. They've been at this for half an hour and Jihoon came almost twenty minutes ago, but it's still an over sensitized spike of pleasure-pain when Seungcheol jerks him off, using the drying come on Jihoon's cock as slick. 

 _I'm not a kitten_ , Jihoon had been about to say, but it comes out an embarrassing mewl. Blood is pounding in his head, he can feel it, but that isn't the reason for his scarlet cheeks.

Seungcheol takes pity on him then, though, fitting his mouth to Jihoon's and swallowing every embarrassing sound he makes. He can't entirely stifle the yowl Jihoon makes when he comes for the second time, but after that he's completely quiet and sluggish in the sheets, too exhausted even to kiss.

Seungcheol leans back and just looks at him with naked, unabashed reverence, and Jihoon manages a lazy smile.

"Keep going." He gasps for breath, for words, when Seungcheol makes to pull out. "Keep going."

He thinks Seungcheol is going to say something, but he doesn't. He speeds up his pace, and Jihoon recognizes that he's close. 

Jihoon’s orgasm always leaves him too sensitive after being fucked, a soreness that borders on actual pain if he  _kept_  getting fucked, but he wants Seungcheol’s knot; the pain and the pleasure both.

He let it go the first time, letting Seungcheol pull out swiftly and come on his stomach, take a minute to breathe before plunging back in with no less enthusiasm, but this time he tightens his thighs around Seungcheol's waist.

“Don't pull out,” he says, his voice ragged. “Don't pull out. Don't ...”

“Thought you didn’t like it when I did it?” Seungcheol tone is sarcastic, but he runs his thumb down Jihoon's cheek, and there's a soft look in his eyes.

“I—” Jihoon catches his reply and slips it back into his mouth. He squeezes his legs around Seungcheol’s waist, feeling the movement of his body, encouraging him. “Just shut up and knot me.”

Seungcheol growls softly in answer, a sound of pure contentment.

He goes on fucking Jihoon, and Jihoon can't take his eyes off him, captivated by the unselfconscious abandon on Seungcheol’s face as he chases his own pleasure.

Then with a snarl and a gasp Seungcheol pushes himself in as deep as he can, flattening Jihoon's hips at an awkward angle against the bed.

Jihoon can instantly feel Seungcheol's knot binding them tautly—he forgot how much it  _hurts_.

He tries hard not to speak—not to say “ow” or anything—but he's got his eyes squeezed shut and the sheets bunched up in his hands and is making soft  _ah, ah_  noises before Seungcheol is even _finished_ swelling. He feels Seungcheol pressing their faces together, panting raggedly.

“Squeeze down around me, kitten. It helps.” Seungcheol’s voice is so hoarse he barely sounds human anymore. 

Jihoon tries to do it, but his muscles won't obey him, any of them. He just has to lie there and take it until Seungcheol's body is evidently satisfied that they're sealed together and Seungcheol comes with a series of soft grunts, his face buried in Jihoon's neck.

* * *

 

Afterward, Seungcheol is as smug and satisfied as ever, taking advantage of the opportunity to trace lazy patterns over Jihoon’s skin before Jihoon regains the motor skills required to break his arm.

“You know what you smell like,” he says. He draws a three on Jihoon’s belly. A coincidence, probably.

Jihoon hums, noncommittal. “Sex?”

Seungcheol leans over, nuzzling his throat. “Me,” he says, his voice suddenly coated with a heavenly layer of velvet. “You smell like me all over.”

“Great,” says Jihoon. “Wet dog.”

Seungcheol snorts and pull back, flops onto his back and folds his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“If you hate my scent so much—why haven’t you changed your sheets since the last time I was here?” He asks after barely a beat, his voice just shy of a drawl.

Jihoon's tail sweeps over the sheets, sharp and brisk. “I’ve been busy.”

Seungcheol looks across at him, then raises a single eyebrow.

Jihoon mewls and rolls onto his side, facing away from Seungcheol so he doesn’t have to contend with his stupid smug face.

* * *

 

Seungcheol pads quietly back to the bed, where he places a glass of water on the nightstand.

Jihoon lies exactly where he'd left him, rumpled and sated and tanged invitingly in the sheets. His eyes are closed, his breathing even, and Seungcheol knows without checking that Jihoon’s heat has vanished.

He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed and hesitates before reaching out to brush a stray curl from where it's fallen over Jihoon's closed eyes. A tiny frown creases between Jihoon's brow and his lips purse slightly before he sighs, relaxing into Seungcheol's touch.

The sight grips Seungcheol with a fierce longing for him – beautiful, brilliant, Jihoon– and he aches with the selfish desire to preserve this moment of tenderness forever. A moment where Jihoon is completely his.

 _Soon_.

The first few times Seungcheol helped him out with his heats, Jihoon would play coy after—embarrassment upon sobering up, Seungcheol presumed—but then they started talking more, calling each other when they would have texted, texting where they would have swallowed the thought entirely. They even meet away from work now, just the two of them—which is huge progress when you consider where they came from, bickering across an office space.

Before Seungcheol knows it, it’s been almost a year and he’s never wanted anything so much as to pin Jihoon down, sink his teeth into his neck and claim him as his mate.

But… they haven't exactly _talked_ about this.

Yes, they have sex all the time, and they’re not sleeping with anyone else. Jihoon never seems to tire of him. Jihoon desires him, that's clear.

But is that all it is? Physical desire, physical release; a mutual need for human contact and orgasms?

Seungcheol's afraid to ask.

_“Jihoon, are we just fuckbuddies?"_

That's not the sort of question that he could just say out loud. But it worries at him, gnaws at his thoughts, makes him pensive and withdrawn.

If only he could— _talk_  about this stuff. Bring it up, casually.

_"Jihoon, I think we should be exclusive."_

_"Jihoon, I like you a lot."_

_"Jihoon, are we dating?"_

Any of those would be perfectly reasonable things to say.

In a sense, he has been waiting for months. Waiting for things to relax between them, waiting for them to become something (acquaintances), then something more (friends?), than something even more than that (???), the last of which still hasn’t happened yet.

He had made up his mind the last time he found himself in Jihoon’s bed: he was going to tell Jihoon that he wanted the  _more_  that he’d been waiting for, or rather that he wanted more and also less between the two of them: more honesty, more contact, more time; less bullshit, less distance, less pretending that they weren’t  _something_  indefinable but important to one another, something they never talked about.

But it's Jihoon's choice in the end, because Seungcheol has known from the moment he'd set eyes on him that he could wait for an eternity.

 _Soon_ , he promises himself. _Soon we'll talk and he'll see that we can be great together._

The ache in his chest lightens with the thought.  _Soon_.

He leans over the bed and kisses Jihoon’s temple, smiles into his hair. “Sleep tight, kitten.”

Jihoon snores softly in response.

* * *

 

Jihoon drops his pen to rub at his temples.

He’s so fucking tired.

Papers lie strewn across the surface, carefully monitored chaos to which only Jihoon holds the key, but his eyes don't take in the words on those pages. The world is blurry and out of focus and there's an itch in the back of his head that he can't quite scratch.

It's been there since the end of his last heat and no amount of actual itching relieves it. It’s like a headache, but not one at the same time and it’s driving him _insane_.

He groans and puts his face in his hands. Of course, that's when Seungcheol has to come round the corner and stick his head into the room. Perfect timing.

"Christ," he says, "you look awful."

"Thanks," Jihoon deadpans, rolling his eyes, "That's deeply flattering, I appreciate it."

"Don’t be like that. What's up?” Seungcheol asks as he takes his customary seat at the edge of Jihoon's desk. He eyes him critically, which is a little insulting coming from a man wearing a tie with a rubber duck print. “You look like you didn’t sleep last night."

“Because I _didn’t_.” Jihoon laughs, exhausted, running a hand over his face. He probably does look like shit. He certainly feels like it. "It’s nothing serious, just a headache." He admits.

Seungcheol's gaze goes a little deeper. "Yeah, I’ve noticed you pulling your hair all morning. I’m heading out to grab some lunch in a minute, you want me to pick you up some painkillers?”

Jihoon isn't sure whether to be touched or annoyed by Seungcheol’s constant mollycoddling. But his head is pounding to the rhythm of the rush-hour traffic on the street below, so he opts for the latter

“If I wanted painkillers, I’m perfectly capable of picking them up myself.”

His words come out sharper than he intended them, and when he sees Seungcheol look away, he wishes he could take them back.

“Yanno, people aren’t going to assume we’re sleeping together just because I pick you up some painkillers Jihoon.”

Jihoon looks aside, sheepish. “It’s not about that.”

He knows he has a slight tendency to be paranoid. This is something that served him well in the past, so he's not particularly worried about it, but he recognizes that he can sometimes take it _too_ far.

For example, when he makes Seungcheol a cup of coffee and finds himself casting furtive looks to see if anyone noticed, if anyone looks surprised that Jihoon is  _nice_  to Seungcheol, it's probably time for Jihoon to take a chill pill.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows. “Oh good, because honestly, I was starting to feel like your dirty little secret, and I was hoping we were beyond that by now. We’ve been sleeping together for over a _year_.”

The flush that rises on Jihoon's cheeks is sudden and unpleasant. 

He’s honestly surprised at the fact that Seungcheol just says that flat-out. Surprised enough that he doesn't have an answer at the ready and has to pause and carefully consider his words.

He feels Seungcheol's eyes on him, expectant and curious and—Jihoon realizes with a guilty twinge—a little bit heartbroken. Seungcheol is _waiting_ for him, and it occurs to Jihoon how selfish he's being.

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about them being together—because he _has_.

Which is _huge_ , because he's never been any good at this, this business of ‘ _liking’_ people. He can be friendly, no problem.

But anything deeper…

Jihoon can't.  

His arrangement with Seungcheol has only been safe because it’s been meaningless sex.

Anything more with him will never be safe.

“I just don’t want what we’re doing to be the latest office gossip.” Jihoon hedges expertly.

“They were gossiping about us before we fucked. Why would it be any different now?” Seungcheol points out in clipped tones.

Jihoon schools his features and resists the urge to duck his head. Defensiveness bubbles up in his chest and he tamps it down.

“Because some of the gossip is actually true now, and potentially damaging to both our careers. Nobody will understand where we’re coming from because I can’t exactly explain what my heat is. It’s just meaningless sex, and the last thing I need is for everyone to see us together and blow it out of proportion.”

The words might as well have been a whip, the way Jihoon wields them; by the look on Seungcheol's face, they strike hard. Jihoon might have said something else to ameliorate it, but by the time he thinks of it Seungcheol's already stalking off.

When he returns half an hour later, Seungcheol sits and eats quietly at his desk instead of perching at the edge of Jihoon’s like he would normally.

Jihoon tries not to pout; he never thought he'd miss Seungcheol dropping crumbs all over his desk, but apparently there's a first time for everything.

 _Oh, so you’re going to avoid me now_ , _that’s mature_. He thinks angrily in Seungcheol’s direction, though he knows he's a hypocrite and an ass just for thinking it.

Isn’t that what he just _asked_ Seungcheol to do? Not to make it obvious.

Well, Seungcheol’s just carrying out his wishes now, and Jihoon doesn't want — he doesn't want this _either_. He hates the polite silence, the neutral glances.

When Seungkwan returns to the office, Jihoon quickly turns back to his own work, lest he get caught mooning across the office at Seungcheol.  

He only raises his head because something – a small box, classy – hits his forehead.

Jihoon looks up, raising an eyebrow.

Seungcheol catches his eye and mouths ‘ _You’re welcome’_ , before shifting his gaze away again.

The small box turns out to be a packet of Nurofen Plus, with a note scribbled on the front: _Discreet enough for you?_

Jihoon snorts softly and stands to fetch himself a glass of water.

Even with the maximum recommended dose, his headache doesn’t improve.

* * *

 

Jihoon wakes up feeling out of sorts.

Feeling out of sorts isn’t all that unusual for him, but this out of sorts feels  _more_  out of sorts than usual. His body aches in the most unusual places; his knuckles, his toes, the dip of his spine, but at least the headache that’s been hounding him for the past week has shifted.

He groans rolling out of bed, and shuffles to the bathroom unsteadily. Stripping out of his sleep shorts, he steps inside the shower, steam curling around his calves as the water pounds against his back.

Lifting his face to the spray of the shower he finds the heat of the water more discouraging than usual, so he dials it down a few degrees. Then squirting some shampoo in his palm, he focuses on lathering his hair. The silky suds relieve a little tension in his scalp, but as he threads his fingers through his damp locks, they brush over numbed a patch of skin. Two patches of skin actually—two furry pointy little things, slightly higher up than his ears are.

_What the fuck?_

Flipping off the water, Jihoon stumbles out of the shower, light-headed and weak in the knees and—jolts to a stop, staring at himself in the mirror. 

He shuts his eyes tight for a moment until there are sparks floating behind his eyelids—because that's not possible. It's not even a _joke_ of a possibility.

But when he opens them again, his head is suddenly swimming, and he stumbles against the countertop, hands grasping the sink basin to steady himself.

It’s still the same. It's wrong. It's horrible and so wrong that he thinks maybe there's a scream somewhere in his throat that wants to come loose.

“Oh fuck,” Jihoon whispers, meeting his own eyes in the mirror before looking back up at his head, in a nauseating mixture of shock and disbelief because he _is literally turning into a kitten._  

From his head have sprouted two small grey and black-coloured ears, the tips flecked with beige.

He touches them gingerly, just to make sure they’re real and not some illusion and then he's pulling, frantically, violently at them, tugging them like they’ll just pop right off.

But they’re not glued on because now they actually _hurt_. 

_Fuck._

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

Is it too early to start drinking?

* * *

 

Jihoon walks into work later that day, approaching what feels like a million pairs of staring eyes.

It’s all wrong. The quiet tension, the observation. He feels like an animal in a zoo.

When he steps into the office and greets Seungkwan and Seungcheol, the silence that follows is a little stifling.

Seungcheol’s mouth is hanging open, which isn’t a particularly promising reaction, while Seungkwan makes a face down his own nose at him, like he objects to his very presence.

“Nice hat.” Seungkwan says finally, looking perturbed at Jihoon’s lively fashion choice.

Yes, fair enough—the red Beret is a sort of garish, but it was either that or a fucking _sombrero_. 

Jihoon shrugs, aiming for casual but probably falling short, “I just thought it was such a nice hat wearing day, and I have so many hats I never wear so I decided to make use of them on this hat wearing day to wear one of the hats I never wear.” He says in the calmest fucking voice he can bring himself to use under the circumstances. 

It probably comes out a tad _hysterical_ , because Seungkwan just blinks at him for what feels like an awkwardly long time before mumbling under his breath, “Okay. I’m sorry I asked.”

“I like it. You look cute.” Seungcheol pipes in cheerfully, then gives the impression he wants a cookie for doing it. 

He doesn't _get_ a cookie because his opinion doesn’t count because he most likely would have said the same thing about the fucking sombrero.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon begins, sliding his hands into his pockets and doing his damnedest to stop the restless twitching under his beret. “May I speak with you for a moment? In the _bathroom_?” He says, and it's not even a good lie.

Seungcheol looks taken aback, but nods dumbly. “Uh, sure.”

Seungkwan snorts out a very badly concealed laugh, and Jihoon graces him with a scathing look.

“It’s work related!”

“Yeah, sure.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes in answer.

They make it to the bathroom, leaving a trail of curious looks in their wake.

“If you’re trying to keep a low profile on our relationship, inviting me into the bathroom and locking the door is _probably_ not the way to do it.” Seungcheol drawls, the corner of his mouth is twitching as he leans against the closed door.

Jihoon ignores him.

There is no point wasting time arguing when there’s plenty more to worry about.

Instead, he shuts his eyes, raises his hand to his hat, self-conscious and then yanks it off.

He braces himself for the mocking.

The mocking will surely begin any minute now.

He’s ready for it.

Seungcheol doesn't offer an immediate retort, and Jihoon finally braces himself enough to open his eyes and raise his head.

He finds Seungcheol looking down at him with blatant awe in his eyes, wolf ears perked in amusement. The expression makes Jihoon's blood heat and his face flush with a surreal mix of anger and embarrassment. 

“Don’t you dare start laughing. Don’t you _dare_.” Jihoon replies, fingernails digging painfully into the heels of his hands.

He wants to scratch that happy look right off Seungcheol’s face

“I’m not laughing. What’s there to laugh about?” Seungcheol says, in a strangely sensible tone of voice.

Jihoon makes a wild gesture over his head that manages beautifully to convey  _none_  of what he wants it to. “I have _ears_!”

No, wait—that doesn’t sound right.

“More ears than I should!”

Seungcheol smiles, humouring and warm, and says, “Yes, I can see that. They’re adorable.”

He should sound mocking, but he doesn’t. His expression seems determined to flit between awe and amusement as he reaches out to brush his palm over Jihoon’s hair— fingers skating across the tufts and—

Oh, god, this is _petting_ , isn’t it?

Seungcheol is actually _petting_ him now, like he’s an honest to god cat.

Jihoon tries to be patient about the whole thing because he should be used to Seungcheol by now, or enough used to Seungcheol to not take offence at the open mouth staring and the weird but understandable need to reach out and touch this new weirdness.   

The fact that Jihoon’s ears are responding happily to the touch is less hard to understand. They’re twitching back and forth, seeking out Seungcheol’s hand.  

“Oh, I think they like me touching them.” Seungcheol laughs, rubbing behind his ears.

Jihoon veers back out of range in an outraged splutter of protest. He tries to tug his hat back on, but Seungcheol stops him, a lightening fast movement that wrenches the hat from his grip.

“Hey—hey, don’t hide them. C’mon, let me see.” Seungcheol says, pulling him closer again.

“No! Stop petting me and just listen to me for a second.” Jihoon says fiercely.

“I can do both.” Seungcheol says without missing a beat.

Apparently he can; his fingers are moving in idle patterns on Jihoon's cat ears, so minutely he probably doesn't even notice he's doing it.

“What am I going to do? How do I get rid of them?” Jihoon sighs after a prolonged moment of petting. Praying that they can but wondering how on earth you'd even start, how you could ever hope to fix something like this.

Seungcheol stops stroking his ears. He blinks at him as though he's just said something completely implausible. “You mean—you’re not controlling them?”

“No.” Jihoon murmurs, feeling small and anxious under Seungcheol's intense scrutiny. “I just woke up this morning and they were there.”

There’s a pause. Jihoon has known Seungcheol long enough to know that’s not a good sign.

“When was the last time you shifted?” Seungcheol asks after a minute.

He sounds curious. Worried and curious.

Jihoon swallows thickly. “Never. I’ve never done it before.”

“ _Oh_.” Seungcheol doesn't say anything more. But the crease between his eyes says a hell of a lot. None of it good.

“How am I going to hide them Cheol?” Jihoon asks, when the silence draws out well past comfortable. “I’m not tall like you, someone is bound to notice them when they walk past. I can’t wear hats forever—I don’t have a hat face. People were staring at me as I walked in today, what’s it going to be like when I suddenly start wearing hats all the time!”

“Hey, listen—It’s going to be okay.” Seungcheol’s voice is gentle and Jihoon hates it, detests how he wants to lean into it and listen.

Seungcheol makes you believe that he's telling the truth. He also makes you believe that if he's wrong he'll turn the world upside down and shake it to make it right.

“We’ll figure something out, okay. Don’t worry.” He says, trying to console Jihoon by rubbing his scalp in slow, soft circles.

Jihoon really should object to that, but the sensation of Seungcheol’s hand ghosting over his ears again and again startles a purr out of him before he can help it.

“Stop paying attention to my ears.” Jihoon grumbles quietly, even though he’s butting his head up into Seungcheol’s hand. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Aww, but they’re so cute.”

* * *

 

Getting information about Jihoon’s uncontrolled shifting phenomenon is easier said than done.

Seungcheol hardly knows where to start looking.

He has friends, contacts, other shifters he trusts and trust him in turn—but they’re all baffled by the question he poses. He calls in a few favours with the sort of people who can track down any information for the right price – and, no, he’s not going to bring Jihoon in for scientific examination, thank you, Wonwoo – but not one of them manages to come up with a single plausible explanation either.

Felids are a rarity amongst shifters _apparently_ , and nobody has seen one.

Either Jihoon is the last of his kind, or he isn’t, and all the other felids are _just_ as shy as he is.

And it’s telling, isn’t it, that both theories are equally plausible.

Four days into his search, and one long ass shopping trip with Jihoon to purchase more hats, Seungcheol swallows the last bitter dregs of his pride (and two fingers of whiskey, to bolster his resolve) and rings Jeonghan.

“If you’re calling because you’ve been discovered again, I don’t want to hear it. You still owe me from last time.” Jeonghan says in greeting.

“I haven’t been discovered,” Seungcheol says.

Jeonghan is quiet, waiting for the punch line. His suspicious squint is nearly audible.

“I, ah,” Seungcheol says. “I need some information about a rare shifter breed.”

“You need information about a rare shifter breed,” Jeonghan repeats tonelessly. “Why?”

“I’m helping out a friend,” Seungcheol equivocates. He suspects that Jeonghan is not likely to appreciate his reasons.

“You’re helping out a friend,” Jeonghan says, in that same flat yet strangely menacing voice.

“Is there a fucking echo in here? Yes, I’m helping out a friend,” Seungcheol snaps. “Look, do you know anything about Felids or not?”

“ _Felids_ , you say.” Jeonghan replies, a smile sliding in his voice. “I _may_ know a thing or two.”  

Seungcheol is starting to wish he’d never called.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol enters the office on Monday, he makes sure to wear his most disarming smile, fully prepared for Jihoon to rip into him for being late, but he quickly realizes the felid is nowhere to be seen.

"Where's my kitten?" he asks innocently, fully aware that Seungkwan probably has no idea what he’s talking about.

Seungkwan, however, snorts loudly as he glances up from his laptop to address him.

"If you mean Jihoon, which, by the way—is the _perfect_ nickname for him, he’s not here. He called this morning, said he needed some _emergency vacation_." he intones.  

Seungcheol frowns, staring at Jihoon’s empty desk.

_Vacation. Right._

* * *

 

It takes Jihoon longer than usual to answer the door.

Long enough that Seungcheol is half tempted to use the spare key he helped himself too a few months back without Jihoon’s knowledge. But he resists, because he _knows_ Jihoon isn’t out. Seungcheol can _smell_ the felid’s presence on the other side of the door and realises that he’s probably just standing there, contemplating what hat will best cover his ears or something.

Just as he’s about to knock again, the door cracks open, no more than an inch.

It’s dark inside. He can’t see Jihoon, can’t see anyone.

“Hey Jihoonie, it’s me,” Seungcheol says, as if this is all perfectly normal.

The door closes. The bolt flips back, and it opens again. This time wide enough to let him through, and to show Jihoon standing inside wearing a rather fashionable fedora.

“Why are you knocking? I know you stole my spare key.” Jihoon snaps.

The colour is high in his cheeks and there’s something wild in his eyes, not to mention the T-shirt he’s wearing has a tear in the neck. Seungcheol notes that, and weights it more than the hat on his head. Jihoon doesn’t wear torn clothing. Even when he dresses down, he’s tidy.

Seungcheol pushes past him into the house, gets one whiff of the alcohol on his breath and says, "Someone's been drinking."

The door slams shut behind him.

Jihoon wheels around and yanks his fedora off, tossing it aside. His new ears are still there, pretty silver-black tabby markings and all.   

" _Someone's_  been drinking?" Jihoon echoes. His voice has that edge that it only gets talking to Seungcheol. "What an observation! That someone out there, at this very minute, might be having a drink — who would have ever thought! Congratulations on your complete lack of specificity. You're right. Someone's been drinking.  _I've_  been drinking." He bites back.

Not, Seungcheol thinks amusedly, his best-constructed rant ever.

"And clearly not the better for it," Seungcheol murmurs under his breath. Then a little louder, “Why have you been drinking?”

Jihoon’s eyes turn flinty. He’s been carefully avoiding eye contact that it takes Seungcheol a minute longer than it normally would to notice that Jihoon’s eyes are slitted now. More feline than ever before.

“Because of this!” Jihoon snaps, thrusting his hands out.

Looking at Jihoon’s hands, he finds real catlike claws there, wicked and dangerous and definitely in the hands of someone who should definitely not have wicked and dangerous claws anywhere even remotely in their vicinity.

“I woke up with them this morning. That’s why I needed emergency vacation. I have _claws_ now, Seungcheol. Fucking claws!” Jihoon says angrily, and judging by his expression this appears to be _Seungcheol's_ fault somehow.

It's amazing how many of the things turn out to be Seungcheol’s fault when he’s not around.

Seungcheol knows he’s being impolite, but he can’t stop staring in awe at the incomplete transformation, eyes drawn to the furious swish of his tail, the agitated flick of Jihoon’s precious cat ears. It’s all Seungcheol can do not to just reach out and stroke them.

Jihoon, of course, notices, and flattens his ears against his head immediately. “Stop staring.”

“You’re getting the hang of them though.” Seungcheol says, tilting his head to indicate the ears. “You’re controlling them better than before. That’s a good sign.”

Jihoon crosses his arms and looks away. His tail curls slowly back and forth, ears twitching in their distinctly feline way.

“Was there a _reason_ for your visit? I sure as hell hope you didn’t just come here to stare at me.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, and decides to lead with the best information he has.

“Listen, I asked around,” He says carefully, “And I might know why you’ve suddenly started sprouting ears…and other things now too.”

Jihoon gives him a look over his shoulder that makes Seungcheol feel like he retains the brain function of a shrimp.

“You asked _around_?”

“Relax. I’ve asked other shifters— _people I know._ Despite what you might think of me, I’m not an idiot Jihoon. I wouldn’t put you in danger like that.” Seungcheol snaps.

"Fine. And what did you find out?" Jihoon grumbles. His voice sounds resigned, like he can't seem to muster the energy for anything more confrontational.

“From what I understand, it’s because you’re repressing.”

“Repressing? I’m not repressing anything!” Jihoon interjects quickly. There's a slightly hysterical edge to his voice, but Seungcheol thinks that's probably fair under the circumstances. “If I _could_ repress I would be repressing all this crap that’s happening to me!”

“That’s just it—,” Seungcheol huffs. “You’re trying _too_ hard to repress this side of yourself. You’ve never fully shifted before and your body _needs_ it. All those years of pushing down your Felid traits are finally catching up with you.”

Jihoon's mouth presses into a thin line, tense and considering, and then he turns away. He sits awkwardly down on the couch, with his elbows on his knees and his back hunched tiredly forward.

“So, what? I can’t get rid of these?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Not like you think, not by hiding and hoping it will go away. You need to let go.”

Jihoon face is carefully blank, but the set of his ears say that he doesn't like the sound of that at all. He looks away from Seungcheol, then, eyes settling on the closed panes of the large window that comprises the apartment's far wall.

“How do I _let go_?”

"Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?" Seungcheol asks.

"No," Jihoon answers without raising his eyes.

"Then how about you allow yourself to shift fully, and we figure it out from there?" Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon  _does_  look at him then, sharp and sudden and a little disbelieving. Like he thinks Seungcheol is joking. Or bluffing. Or anything at all besides serious. Seungcheol stares at him stubbornly, and Jihoon blinks as comprehension settles in.

“No. No fucking way.”

Seungcheol smiles, bright and a little self-deprecating, “It won’t hurt. You need to get it out of your system.”

“I can’t. I wouldn’t even know _how_ to. I’ve never done it before, you can’t just expect me to—shift out of the blue. No, I won’t do it. There’s got to be another way.” Jihoon says, quiet but desperate. Threatening to drift into hysterics.

The fading sunlight slants through the windows, catching in his hair. He looks tiny, and Seungcheol goes to sit next to him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Jihoon, you don’t really have many options right now. You have to shift, or else you’ll just keep sprouting more and more Felid features. Features that won’t be so easy to hide under a hat.”

Jihoon shrugs his hand off, mouth set in a thin, unhappy line “No. I’ll figure something out.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair and thinks about many things in that breath of a moment.

He thinks about trust, about vulnerability, about just why Jihoon is so reluctant to do this. It's easy enough to offer your body, not so much to offer your personal fears. And he can tell that shifting is very much Jihoon's fear, though Jihoon’s trying to hide it.

Seungcheol knows Jihoon's body well by now, and he can read the stiff line of his shoulders, like an iron pole jabbed between, holding Jihoon together in one piece.

“Why are you so afraid of this? Are you worried you won’t be able to shift back or something? Because that’s not going to happen, okay. I shift all the time and I never have a problem. Trust me.”

“That’s so easy for you to say. You haven’t lived your entire life feeling like a freak. I wasn’t brought up to be an animal Seungcheol, and I refuse to be one now.” Jihoon says, frustration laced in lines of his body, in the brisk movements of his tail that makes him look like he’s pacing.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you think submitting to this means you’ll lose your humanity, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s about being in control. The more you shift, the easier it is to control it. I can help you through it. I’ve booked the time off work, so I’ll be here. I’ll help you.”

Jihoon’s face slips through angry, hopeful and then miserable, before swinging back to angry again, almost too quickly to follow. “No. I don’t want your help. I don’t even know why you’re here—just go.” He replies, cold.

Seungcheol wants to laugh, but the sound won't work properly from his throat.

The thing is, Jihoon says things like that and he must be joking. He simply has to be. But Seungcheol can't tell, can't see a bloody thing through Jihoon's armour. Even when Jihoon's flustered and distraught, his deadpan is perfect.

“Seriously? You’re kicking me out?” Seungcheol says, and he can't seem to keep the sour note entirely out of his voice.

There's a short silence in which their eyes lock and something in Jihoon’s eyes soften, but only for a split second before he drops his gaze.

“I don’t need anyone looking after me.” He murmurs. Then a moment later, he looks up again, defiant and vulnerable. “Least of all you. I’d like you to leave.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes, and counts to three. He can feel the tension in the room become palpable. He wills himself not to say anything else to Jihoon because Jihoon is just scared and angry and he’s lashing out at the only person in range.

If Seungcheol pushes the issue now, he might well push Jihoon away forever.

So Seungcheol does the only thing he can for now. He leaves.

* * *

 

Jihoon stares at the front door for a long time after it's shut.

Seungcheol walking away should have been a relief. Instead, Jihoon is left with hollow places in his chest, and a conflicted heart.

He turns around to go back to his room, climbs under the covers and promptly bursts into furious tears.

He hates himself for being so weak and pathetic, but in a bed surrounded by the smell of himself and Seungcheol; their two separate lives pushed into one, he doesn't know how to feel any differently.

He wishes he could meet someone like him, part feline. He desperately wants that. He wants to know how they do it, how they cope with heats, how the conceal themselves, how they _ever_ form relationships, shunned and secluded by society. He knows in his bones he can't be the last one; but, equally strongly, he feels in his gut an aching loneliness that tells him that even if there are others, he could go his whole life searching and never find one.

After several minutes, a lot of his hysteria has ebbed, and he simply lies there, swiping at his wet face, breath coming in soft pants without any of the accompanying drama.

Seungcheol makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world.

Like Jihoon could shift one day, and everything would go back to normal the next.

And maybe Seungcheol’s _right_.

Maybe it is just _that_ simple—maybe all he has to do is _let go._  

…………………..

When Seungcheol wakes up Tuesday, there’s late morning sunlight falling through the sheer curtains and no messages on his phone. He has a momentary falling sensation in his belly, and has his finger hovering over the call button before he catches himself with a reminder: Jihoon doesn’t want him there.  

Besides, no news is probably good news and Seungcheol has a lot of faith in Jihoon’s emotional strength, even though there are _some_ things that are bound to throw you off kilter.

Completely.

Slowly transforming into a kitten is most assuredly one of them.

Seungcheol sighs.

He should _probably_ check up on him.

* * *

 

Jihoon doesn't answer when Seungcheol first knocks, and for a moment, Seungcheol thinks about turning back and walking away, thinks about how it would be so much easier to just go back home, cancel his holiday leave and drown himself with work, thinks about how he isn't good at this — being turned away — but he squares his jaw, stands his ground, and raps his fist on Jihoon’s door again, harder this time, because he just needs to know he’s okay.

There’s a pause—then a scuffling sound, followed by something crashing to the ground; a lampshade hitting the hard-wooden floor. Then silence.

 _Shit,_  Seungcheol thinks, rifling options.

Is he drunk? Likely.

Injured? Also likely.

Is he ignoring Seungcheol in hopes that he’ll go away? _Probably_.

None of them good, none of them things he particularly wants to consider, but he finds himself reaching for his key and unlocking the door anyway, wondering if he’s going to walk in on something awful.

“Jihoon?” He calls out, stepping inside.

There’s no answer. No sound of movement from inside the house, nothing at all.

However, not two seconds later, his ears intercept something, a faint  _groan_  emanating from further inside the house. Seungcheol stands frozen on the spot, his wolf ears perking against his will as he struggles to locate the sound.

He moves softly down the corridor, carefully scoping out each room before entering the living area. The room is empty, nothing out of place but for the puddle of clothing near the couch.

Seungcheol slows his breathing to listens for noise, but whatever _was_ making the noise – is nowhere to be found. 

There is a smell in the air he can’t pinpoint however, coming from behind the couch.

When Seungcheol pulls the couch away from the wall to investigate, a snarling grey blur bursts out, ripping across the carpeting. It dives under Seungcheol’s legs and out the door, disappearing into the bedroom in a streak of silver.

Seungcheol follows just long enough to see a tiny shadow beneath the bed, and a pair of wide eyes glowing back at him. Cursing, Seungcheol drops to his knees to get a better look, only to be caught in a staring contest with very distressed looking kitten.

Well, not _quite_ a kitten.

The grey Calico cat hissing at him like a thing possessed is thin and sleek; not small enough to be a kitten but not a large adult either. It’s crouched to the floor, trying to make itself as small as possible, before scooting back beneath the bed frame.

There’s something about the feline’s eyes that leaves him blinking. The shape is right, but the colour is a familiarly-breath-taking colour of hazel mixed with a few streaks of gray.

Seungcheol finally decides that yes, somehow, bizarrely, this kitten is Jihoon.

“Jihoonie?” Seungcheol says, reaching out to grab the kitten.

Jihoon swipes at him with claws and backs away further, hissing. He’s cornered and angry and scared, and Seungcheol can’t begrudge him either emotion.

Dropping flat onto his stomach, Seungcheol shuffles under the bed as far as he can go.

“Okay—I know you’re scared.” He says gently, “Everything seems so much larger than you remember. I know the feeling. But you remember who I am, right? You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

He holds out his hands, to reinforce how unarmed and harmless he is, then holds one out a little further for Jihoon to sniff.

Jihoon’s eyes are wide as they look up at him, then he lets out a tiny, questioning “mrow?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Seungcheol beckons with a hand, “Let’s get you out of there.”

Jihoon does pad forward then, nose bumping against Seungcheol’s palm kittenishly.  He must recognise his scent, because his ears tilt forward, interested, unafraid and in the next second Seungcheol is met with a face full of fur as the cat noses at him curiously.

“That’s right, nothing to be afraid of. Just your neighbourhood werewolf.” Seungcheol grins, shifting back out from under the bed.

The kitten scrambles after him immediately, trying to clamber up Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh and scoops the kitten up, cradling the petite ball of fur against his chest. Jihoon goes willingly, sinking his tiny claws into Seungcheol’s T-shirt and holding on. After a moment he seems to figure out what his paws are for, and climbs his way up Seungcheol’s shirt, snuggling into the hollow of his neck and meowing plaintively.

“Yes, yes, I _know_.” Seungcheol coos, not entirely sure what he _knows_ , but it seems to calm Jihoon down a bit when people are agreeing with him.

The kitten is limp and uncharacteristically pliable when Seungcheol holds it like a baby in his arms, making soothing sounds as he carries it to the kitchen.

He doesn’t know how long Jihoon has been shifted for, but he’s probably thirsty and hungry by now, having underestimated the difficulty he would have actually _reaching_ things in this form. Sure enough, the second Seungcheol holds a small bowl of water up to his face, Jihoon is clawing out of his grip and lapping it.

“You stubborn idiot. I can’t believe you thought doing this alone was a good idea.” Seungcheol whispers, gently tickling Jihoon under the chin.

Jihoon stops lapping at the water long enough to level Seungcheol a feline look of fury.

“I guess it’s my fault though.” Seungcheol demurs quickly. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. Even though you kicked me out, it’s _clearly_ all my fault.”

Jihoon seems to agree it’s all his fault, and when Seungcheol gently scratches the base of his soft ears, the kitten purrs in response, a gentle rumbling that sends an answering warmth through Seungcheol’s chest.

“Let’s get you something to eat, shall we?”

* * *

 

After rooting around in the kitchen, all Seungcheol can find for Jihoon to eat is a can of tuna.

Actually, that isn’t quite accurate.

The only food left in the house for _either_ of them is one can of tuna, two cans of peaches, and some questionable condiments in the door of the refrigerator. Clearly Jihoon hadn’t prepared himself to shift at all—or, more likely, he was too terrified too leave the house in his last few days as a human.

Seungcheol winces inwardly at the thought of how scared and lonely he must have felt, and resolves to go grocery shopping immediately.

Kitten!Jihoon doesn’t make it easy though, which surprises Seungcheol not one bit.

The second Seungcheol sets him down, the kitten mewls, trying to claw his way back up Seungcheol’s legs frantically.

“I’ll just be a few minutes.”

 _Meow_.

“I promise, I won’t be gone long.”

 _Meow_.

“I just need to pick up a few things Jihoonie—I’m not running away.”

 _Meow_.

Jihoon’s sitting at his feet, staring up at him— _beseechingly_. Every time Seungcheol tires to step away, he pads closer and sits on his shoe, like he thinks _that_ will be the key to prevent Seungcheol from leaving.

To be fair, it is bloody effective.

Seungcheol feels incredibly guilty just looking at him. 

“Alright, well then you’ll just have to come with me.” Seungcheol sighs, bending down to pick up Jihoon, who is twining around his feet now, seeking attention.

He nestles the kitten close under the fold of his jacket before zipping it up, mindful to leave him room to breathe. 

The ten-minute walk to the local grocery store is surprisingly uneventful, the kitten is strangely silent and compliant nestled under his jacket, but things quickly take a turn once they get there.

It’s almost impossible to manoeuvre a shopping cart one handed because they’re _clearly_ not designed for people who may be concealing a kitten in their jacket. Seungcheol has to settle for a basket instead—inevitably prolonging his excursion as he has to set it down each time he needs to pluck something off a shelf.

The effort earns him a few odd looks from other shoppers, and the slit eyed suspicion of the supermarket security guard who starts tailing him—like Seungcheol’s some devious _shoplifter_.

On second thought, he probably _does_ look like a shoplifter. With how he’s mumbling assurances to the bend of his arm, peeking into his jacket every few minutes and adjusting his jacket to keep Jihoon from slipping.

The pet section is virtually non-existent, barely three feet of shelf space sandwiched between the toilet paper and the picnic supplies. Seungcheol would have walked blithely past it all, had someone not mis-hung one of the cat toys. But, as it is, the pink feathered  _thing_  sticks out at an awkward angle, catching Seungcheol’s attention as he walks down the aisle.

It looks like a cross between a child’s fishing pole and a fairy wand, a tangle of ribbon and feathers.

Seungcheol holds it up to the open fold of his jacket and waves it at Jihoon.

“Do you want me to buy you this? To play with?” He chuckles, then practically jumps three feet in the air when Jihoon hisses and sinks his tiny claws into his chest.

“Okay, okay—no toys. Got it! Jesus!”

Turning back to the shelf, Seungcheol drops a bag of kitty litter into the basket, and then a pouch of every kind of cat food he can see. None of the options look especially appetizing, but then again, Seungcheol isn’t a cat.

Maybe _“Meow Mix Tender Centres”_ or _“Whiskas Gravy Lovers Meaty Bits”_ or, god forbid, _“Friskies Turkey and Giblets”_ will appeal to the distinguished feline palate.

Seungcheol tenses when he feels the tell-tale prickle of eyes on the back of his head, and turns to find a security guard is watching him.

The man’s standing at the end of the aisle, one hand on his hip, the other resting on the butt of his taser.

“Uhm—hi.” Seungcheol starts, with his most placating grin.

It doesn't work on the guard, who stares at him with hard, implacable eyes. “Excuse me sir—but I’m going to need to see what you have hidden in your jacket there.”

Seungcheol ducks his head sheepishly as he unzips his jacket.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” The words begin to spill from him in a tumble, rushing to explain before his one chance runs out, “I wanted to leave him back at the house, but he was so distressed every time I set him down and I just couldn’t--”

He trails off and gestures towards his chest. Jihoon’s sleepy tabby face peers from the vee of his zipper, gazing first at the Security Guard’s now entirely puzzled expression, then twisting up to observe the spreading warmth on Seungcheol’s face.

“He’s, uhm, new—so doesn’t like being left at home alone.”

The Security Guard’s expression morphs rapidly through a series of emotions before settling on poorly-restrained amusement.

“We _do_ have a no-pet policy in the store, but lucky for you, I love cats.” The man grins.

He reaches out to pet Jihoon, but Jihoon’s having none of it. He flattens his ears against his skull, baring needle-sharp teeth when the hand strays too close for comfort.

The man flinches, pulling his hand back immediately. “He’s uh—not the friendliest.”

Seungcheol tucks Jihoon back neatly into the fold of his jacket again, shrugging. “He’s kind of shy.”

The security guard smiles and leaves him to his shopping. The minute he steps around the corner, Seungcheol pokes his head into his jacket to whisper to Jihoon, who’s now _grooming_ himself.

He’s lapping one white paw intently, pink tongue working in rough little strokes. Seungcheol wonders if there’s a way he could take a photograph of him, without having both his eyes scratched out.

Probably not.

“Would it hurt you to be a little more sociable?” Seungcheol says, reaching up to squish the tiny pink toe beans on Jihoon’s hind paw.

Jihoon stops licking his paw and looks up, slitted brown eyes narrowing.

The answer is most definitely no. Or equally, _don’t touch my fucking toe beans._

It’s hard to say which.

* * *

 

After the get back from their trip to the grocery store, Jihoon is still oddly reluctant to leave his side for very long, so Seungcheol has to take him into the kitchen when he prepares dinner.

He deposits him on the counter as he begins fetching ingredients, keeping an eye on the kitten with sidelong glances. Jihoon’s greyish-black ears are laid low, twitchy, just like the tip of his tail is. The rapid movements are at odds with how perfectly stoic he is.

He must be waiting for _something_.

When Seungcheol pulls the salmon fillets out of the fridge, he sees the kitten stiffen, ears at attention, nose scrunching. His eyes focus on the paper-wrapped package under Seungcheol’s arm.

_Hungry then._

Seungcheol grins and pulls out a chopping board.

He’s never has much opportunity to cook with or for others, hasn’t had that kind of relationship with another person in a long time. He misses it sometimes, the easy camaraderie in the kitchen, dancing around each other, movements perfectly in sync, coordinating without a word. He finds himself wondering what Jihoon would be like in the kitchen, if he would kick Seungcheol out while he cooks, or if he’d let Seungcheol press up behind him, let him taste test everything for approval.

The rice boils over while he is lost in thought. He does manage to get the salmon off the grill in time, just cooked through, barely more than seared, perfection.

Jihoon meows ardently at him as he plates it up.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something for you too.” Seungcheol grins.

He takes his dinner to the table, then goes to fetch Jihoon a bowl of gross cat food.

He’s no sooner fished the cat food pouch out of the cupboard, when a sudden crash and clatter echoes from behind him. Seungcheol whips his head around to find Jihoon’s perch on the counter is empty, the jar of cooking utensils next to where he was sitting has toppled over.

The sudden thud of four paws rebounding off the floor, followed by a rattle of crockery against wood quickly reveals the culprit.

Jihoon is standing on the dining table now, a bite of salmon and the entire skin hanging from his mouth, looking somewhat perplexed. The rest of the salmon has neatly peeled away from the skin and is upside down on the table at his feet.

Seungcheol bites back a laugh as he tears open the cat food pouch.

“Nice try Jihoonie. That’s my salmon. You have your own food.” He says, placing a bow of Chicken and Giblets in gravy down on the table for Jihoon instead.  

Jihoon mews. His protest is muffled by the fish stopping up his mouth, but his disagreement is plain.

“I’m serious, kitten. People food can’t be good for cats. Especially with all the spices I added to that.”

Jihoon sits, tail-tip lashing, eyes wide and guileless, salmon firmly secured between tiny fangs. Seungcheol slumps. It will never do for his reputation if a petite piece of fluff could have him so quickly caving.

“Fine, but at least let me get the bones out for you. I don’t want you choking on anything and hurting yourself.” He holds out his hand, pleasantly surprised when Jihoon neatly deposits the food into his palm.

Seungcheol takes the rest of his food back to the counter to guard against further thievery, and de-skins and bones the salmon, crumbling it into a new bowl.

He doesn’t bother sitting at the table this time; Jihoon skilfully hops the gap between counter and the table and when Seungcheol joins him a few minutes later with his own plate, they eat there, side-by-side.

It’s nice. The kitten’s presence is almost good as real company—though the lofty perch gives Jihoon ample opportunity to paw at Seungcheol’s plate when he’s finished his own food.

“No, no, no.” Seungcheol’s chides him, nudging him away again when the kitten begins nosing at his rice bowl. “I might not know much about cats, but I _do_ know they don’t eat rice.”

The kitten meows and stares longingly at the bowl of rice, like it’s the only thing that will ever make him happy again.

Seungcheol sighs, pushing his bowl over to the kitten. “I suppose some rice couldn’t hurt.”

Jihoon preens, whiskers bristling in satisfaction, butting his head against Seungcheol’s shoulder a couple of times before returning to his food.

Seungcheol stands there and watches him eat, running his fingers down the ridge of Jihoon’s spine and ribs, revelling in the downy fur.

“The things I would do for you.”

* * *

 

After dinner, Seungcheol naps lightly on the couch while Jihoon has an existential crisis staring at his reflection in the window. He has one paw pressed up against the glass, and his ears are laid flat against his head. On a rainy day and with the right soundtrack, it would look like he’s filming a sad movie scene.

But for cats.  

“Come away from there and stop angst-ting.” Seungcheol trails off, realizing he has caught Jihoon’s attention when he began speaking.

Even as a cat, Jihoon is overly aware of him.

“You’ll only piss yourself off the longer you stare. The transformation won’t be forever, so just try and enjoy cat time while you can.” He says, tucking a cushion under his head and shutting his eyes.

A few minutes later, a small, questioning “ _mrow_?” from beside him has him snapping his eyes open again.  

He turns his head to find Jihoon has crossed the short distance between the couch and the window and is now staring up at him.

“What do you want?” He says, looking at the tilted head and quizzical ears.

Jihoon leaps up onto the couch, stepping daintily over Seungcheol chest before settling down. He curls into a lazy circle, extending a single paw to rest gently on top of Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol smiles, strangely warmed by that single point of contact.

Lifting his free hand, he runs a finger along a silky ear in wonderment, breaking out into a grin as Jihoon begins to purr, his tabby tail flopping back and forth lazily.

“You know—you’re a lot more affectionate as a cat. Maybe I’ll keep you like this—so I can pet you and marvel at your tiny toe beans.”

The paw on his hand flexes slightly, a hint of claws bared in warning. It’s not enough to hurt, not intending any damage, but enough to send a message:  _Don’t touch my toe beans._

Seungcheol huffs a laugh and shuts his eyes, placing a protective hand over the kitten’s back as he drifts off to the gentle rumble of light purring.

* * *

 

Jihoon’s still adjusting to the transformation on Wednesday.

He begins his day by getting trapped under the duvet cover, and then meowls pitifully until Seungcheol recues him. Then after breakfast he decides it’s absolutely vital to go on a quest to the top of the bookshelf, where he immediately develops a sudden fear of heights. Seungcheol has to come to his rescue then too, and then again when Jihoon thinks it’s utterly brilliant to climb inside a narrow vase and get himself stuck. It’s a challenge getting him out once Seungcheol locates him, especially without breaking the vase, but they manage it. The kitten looks very ruffled by the entire ordeal and spends a whole hour grooming his fur before trotting away and locking himself inside the tumble dryer somehow.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon he’s irritatingly indecisive, pawing at the back door until Seungcheol lets him out. Then pawing on the other side until Seungcheol lets him in again. Rinse and repeat over several hours, Seungcheol gives up and just leaves the door wide open. Of course, by that time Jihoon’s lost all interest in his fantastical cat time adventures outside and is more interested in viciously attacking the curtains, which clearly had it coming by simply existing peacefully by the windows.

“I hope you’re enjoying cat time.” Seungcheol tell his, some time later when they’re sprawled on the couch.

Jihoon is currently doing his best impersonation of a cat on a cross-trainer, kneading Seungcheol’s thigh for no apparent reason. Seungcheol’s sure there’s some unfathomable cat logic behind it, so he doesn’t dare interrupt.

To his utter surprise, the kitten sitting on his lap begins to speak. Not in human words, obviously, but it’s quite clear that Jihoon is attempting to communicate through a confusing string of cat-like noises.

Seungcheol can’t help it – he laughs.

Jihoon hisses. Claws snick out, and Seungcheol squawks, blood welling up from the trio of scratch marks now decorating his hand.

“Hey—ow. Not cool.” Seungcheol growls, rubbing his hand.

Jihoon stares at his paw in wonder—like it’s the infinity gauntlet, and now he has the power over life and death.

Seungcheol frowns. “Don’t get any bright ideas. I can always have you declawed.”

* * *

 

Jihoon’s a little more adjusted by Thursday, though he absolutely forbids Seungcheol from squishing his tiny toe beans.

He’s a little more tolerant about petting though.

If Seungcheol reaches out to caress those silky-smooth ears, sometimes he receives a forbidding paw pressed against his hand, claws extended in delicate warning. Other times, Jihoon will follow him to the couch, jump on his lap, and allow himself to be rubbed all over, from nose to belly to tail, while Seungcheol lounges watching bad television.

Seungcheol has the sneaking suspicion that Jihoon just likes the sound of his voice, and obliges with a running stream of commentary and criticism over bizarre Korean soaps and terrible daytime talk show hosts. If he stops talking or touching for too long, Jihoon will snap back to himself like a man released from hypnotism, jumping down in a flash, darting into the other room, a bullet train in miniature.

 _Felines._  Seungcheol shakes his head in disbelief, watching Jihoon leap out of the room.  _Such strange creatures._

* * *

 

Seungcheol is implementing a new rule.

The new rule will be 'never introduce Jihoon to catnip’

He's going to put that into effect just as soon as Jihoon is human again.

Jihoon is currently seeing if his hair is edible, because Jihoon is now some sort of hyperactive, overexcited kitten. Who doesn't seem capable of not climbing everything, and only seems to be happy tangled round Seungcheol's neck, like some sort of enthusiastic, and moody scarf. So he's been, for all intents and purposes,  _wearing_  Jihoon since the whole catnip thing started. But, the bright side of that, is at least he knows where he is.

* * *

 

By Saturday—Jihoon is completely at ease in his new skin and demonstrates said easiness by pawing Seungcheol in the face till he wakes up.

“Alright, alright—I’m awake!” Seungcheol grunts tiredly.

He barely got three hours sleep last night, having been wide awake the moment Jihoon decided to sprint from one side of the house to the other. Over and over again. Like he was chasing some imaginary mouse.

He cracks one eye open to find the kitten is sitting on its haunches on his chest, tail undulating with menace as it stares right at him.

“No sleeping in for you huh? Not even after your 2am zoomies. Yeah— _that’s right._ I heard you, running up and down the corridor last night, tearing shit up. Did you have fun, you adorable tiny psychopath?” Seungcheol teases, stroking Jihoon under his feathery chin.

Jihoon turns his head into the touch and gives a curious mew, the end of his tail twitching with an impatient energy.

Seungcheol cradles the back of Jihoon's head in his palm, scratching lightly as an incentive for the kitten to stay where he is; a pleasant ball of warmth on his chest.

But Jihoon is clearly on a mission this morning, and isn’t content to have his head scratched for long.

He leaps off the bed and pads out of the room, yawning and stretching luxuriously in the way that only those with feline blood can do.

Seungcheol follows him down the corridor, feeling a lot less accommodating when he checks his watch and frowns.

“It’s 6am Jihoonie. What does your royal kitteness require from his humble servant this early?”

Jihoon saunters over to where Seungcheol is standing, twines around his ankles in one loop, two, then continues on towards the small kitchen. He stops in the doorway, blinking back at him as if to say, ‘Aren’t you going to come make me food?’.

The sheer amount of imperiousness that the cat can command in a single look is baffling.

He’s like a tiny, velveteen dictator and Seungcheol’s in no position to argue.

* * *

 

As Seungcheol’s washing up, movement at the edge of his vision catches his attention. He looks across the kitchen to find Jihoon batting playfully at the bright beam reflected off his watch’s crystal face.

Seungcheol grins and moves his hand, sending both the ray of light and Jihoon’s lithe form dancing across the floor.

Abandoning his dish washing duties, Seungcheol grabs a cloth and dries his hands. Then leaning against the kitchen counter, he tilts his wrist until the beam of reflected light settles directly between Jihoon’s front paws.

Jihoon’s entire body turns rigid as the bright halo appears in front of his face.

Seungcheol twitches his wrist, causing the light to jump about two feet to the side.

Jihoon’s head whips around to follow it.

Seungcheol does it again, jerking the light in the other direction, then back and forth across the floor.

Jihoon follows its movement so intently Seungcheol is half afraid it will give him whiplash.

When he stops the light directly on top of Jihoon’s outstretched, trembling paw, the kitten tenses and stares at it, transfixed.

Except for the tell-tale twitch of his tail, and the occasional movement of a stiffened ear, Jihoon resembles a living statue. That is until Seungcheol shakes his wrist and the kitten explodes into a flurry of motion, a furry comet with ears and claws. He pounces up and down the kitchen, paw slapping at the moving light as if he can somehow capture or kill it.

Seungcheol tries to keep the beam of light one step ahead of him.

Each time Jihoon almost catches it, he tilts his wrist and sends it to the furthest corner of the kitchen and out of reach.

The next time he does it however, something changes.

There’s a ripple in the air like a desert mirage, a nearly-inaudible keening sound as the kitten twists in mid-air.

In one last burst of motion, Jihoon leaps and shifts mid-stride, barely breaking his forward motion as limbs extend and bare flesh emerges.

From one second to the next, there is a very naked, very human Jihoon patting on the tiles.

* * *

 

Jihoon has no idea how he got on the floor.

One moment he's sitting on the couch, getting ready to shift—the next he's naked, on all fours in the kitchen, trying to reach for a ….

What the fuck was he reaching for?

Never mind. It’s not important.

What _is_ important are the cold tiles under every inch of his bare skin, and how his entire body feels like someone took a rolling pin to it. Considering the fact that he's in a kitchen, it's a distinct possibility.

As for what happened _before_ that—it's like someone had hit fast-forward on the world. The whole lot of it is just a jumble of images. For a second it's too fast to follow, skipping too quickly, like the frames on a DVD. But then they slow, slide together, more like the pages of a flicker book.

It takes him several confusing minutes for the events of the last few days to cheerfully arrive at his doorstep to humiliate him, like a high school yearbook.

He’d given in and shifted when fur started sprouting all over his skin—then he couldn’t shift back. He was trapped inside the house, alone, petrified, until Seungcheol arrived and…..

 _Seungcheol_.

“Welcome back.” Seungcheol’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jihoon takes a breath and holds it. Then slowly turns his head.

Seungcheol’s watching him now, leaning against the kitchen counter, his body language deceptively casual. “How much of ‘cat time’ do you remember?”

Jihoon bows his head, his face going pink. He doesn’t know where to start; the whole experience is a laundry-list of humiliations.

“All of it,” He admits, crossing his arms over his naked chest defensively.

“Oh. Ah—here.” Seungcheol pushes himself upright, tugging his T-shirt off. He doesn't seem bothered about being half naked. Where Jihoon feels weird and exposed, and he'd very much like to be wearing clothes if he’s going to be crouching on the kitchen floor.

The T-shirt is handed to him, and he doesn't miss the way Seungcheol is being very careful not to touch him.

Jihoon mumbles his thanks and tugs it over his head, immensely gratified when it slides over his head smoothly, doesn’t catch on any cat ears.

The ears are gone—it _worked_. Shifting was like pressing the ‘RESET’ button on a faulty device, and Jihoon is a fully functioning, normal human again.

Well— _mostly_.

He still has a tail of course.

Jihoon pushes himself to a stand, and then decides that,  _no_ , no he's not doing that quite yet, and levers himself back down.

Seungcheol at his side in an instant, reaches a hand out to rest on his shoulder.

“Dizzy?”

Jihoon nods, then regrets it as his vision swims. “Yeah.”

“That’s normal after the first few times—some inner ear imbalance thing. It should wear off in a few hours.” Seungcheol explains.

“Can’t wait.” Jihoon sighs, trying to find some mental equilibrium before he attempts to stand again.

Seungcheol offers him a helping hand off the floor, then quite literally sweeps Jihoon off his feet and carries him to the bedroom.

“Is this necessary?” Jihoon huffs. He feels like he should be attempting to retain some dignity right now, especially when he remembers how Seungcheol gave him a bath in the sink yesterday. 

“Yes.” Seungcheol replies simply, nudging the bedroom door open with his shoulder.

He deposits Jihoon on the bed, then stands back, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

He looks like he really wants to say something, but can't quite get it out, or doesn't know how. But Jihoon feels like the tentative skirting around the issue is working ok for the moment.

"We'll probably have to talk about this, but I really don't feel like doing it now. So could we put it on some sort of 'to do' list for the future, when I can look at you without blushing?” Jihoon mumbles, not meeting his eyes.

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. “Alright. I’ll see you at work I guess.”

* * *

 

After Seungcheol leaves, Jihoon doesn’t shower like he planned to, doesn’t break out the hoover and vacuum up every fibre of cat hair. He just lies in his bed for an unacceptably long time, curled up in Seungcheol’s T-shirt.

It’s pathetic really—how comforting Seungcheol’s scent is.

Jihoon has never made a habit of forming close relationships, could never afford to trust anyone beyond his parents, but it’s been years since his father died and his mother is hardly understanding when she’s half way across the country is in a nursing home with early onset dementia.

In that regard, he's lucky to have Seungcheol. Somebody just as different, someone who understands when he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he's all alone in the universe. Seungcheol makes that feeling go away.

What matters, then, is that he really _likes_ Seungcheol. He likes his smile, his easy banter, the way he calls him "Kitten" in unguarded moments. He likes Seungcheol just because he's  _Seungcheol_ : the one constant Jihoon has always been able to rely on, and that's not going to change now. No matter what happens—that's never going to change.

His feelings for Seungcheol are _there_. They're undeniable. If Jihoon could shut them down by force of will, he'd have done it by now.

Which means he has to accept them as a given and move on from there.

It sure as hell doesn't save him from the fact that Monday is going to be awkward as hell, no matter how he swings his apology.

* * *

 

The handle of the office door is smooth and chilled under Jihoon's hand—it's comforting and daunting all at once, the shape of it familiar under his fingers. He wonders how many times he's opened this door, secretly excited that Seungcheol is there to greet him with coffee and warm smiles on the other side. Then wonders how amazing it would be if he could wake up to that instead; Seungcheol curling up behind him, a permanent fixture in his bed.

When he steps inside he's smiling, thinking about it.

Then he sees Seungcheol, and remembers to be nervous.

He's standing behind his desk, half turned towards the window, and he's not looking at Jihoon at first. There are heavy circles under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in days, and the set to his shoulders is low and slumped, the way it always is when he's had a particularly trying day.

Jihoon feels his heart jump and break all at once.

Then he turns, and his eyes widen, and Jihoon himself blushing before he even starts  _talking_ , and Seungcheol is staring at him like he's not sure if he's real.

"Hey, uh, how are you feeling?" Seungcheol asks quietly.  

“Great. Better than ever.” Jihoon says simply.

He surprises himself with how suddenly he moves—walking around the desk, getting his arms up around Seungcheol's neck and shoulders, burying his face in the crisp collar of Seungcheol's shirt. Seungcheol is taken aback for a moment—Jihoon’s never hugged him out of the blue, so he probably has no idea how to respond—but finally in a sudden rush, Seungcheol relaxes and lets out a breath of air, and his arms are moving to hug Jihoon back.

"Thank you," Jihoon mumbles into Seungcheol's shoulder. “For looking after me and being there even though I kicked you out. I didn’t mean to, I was just scared and embarrassed and I didn’t know how to handle any of it, but you came back and cared for me anyway even though I’m a jerk to you.”

"Ah,  _kitten_ ," Seungcheol says, in a shaking voice. “Anytime.”

Seungcheol’s chin is a reassuring weight tucked over Jihoon's shoulder, and his hands are warm on Jihoon's back, and god, he smells  _good_ —

“Uh—hey guys. What’s up?” Seungkwan pipes in, because of course someone just _had_ to walk in on their hug.

Jihoon’s careful not to move too abruptly—the last thing he wants is to make Seungcheol think he's done something wrong—but he steps back and lets go, drops his arms to his sides and feels a self-conscious smile twist across his face as Seungcheol does the same.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, smiling but uncertain, and it's Seungkwan that finally breaks the silence.

“Is this some kind of team building exercise that I haven’t been invited to?” He drawls, waving his hand a little in a pointlessly vague sort of way. “Cause if it is—can I get in on that? I’ve had a shitty weekend and I could totally do with a hug from Seungcheol too.”

“No! He’s mine.” Jihoon bristles.

Seungkwan’s mouth drops open, and now he’s staring, and  _Seungcheol_  is staring, and Jihoon has never cared less about having an audience. He clears his throat and waits for Seungcheol to do something, to say something, to  _react_ , but he doesn't, and so Jihoon is forced to continue.

“Seungcheol—” he begins, pulse hammering in his chest, “I like you a lot. I like you more than I like anyone else. You’re the person I like the most. Am I making sense? Of course I’m not, because like is such a weak word, but I’m shit with using the right words and expressing my feelings. But I wanted to try because you make me happy. And I don’t just mean when we’re having sex, because I want to spend time with you away from the sex. Don’t get me wrong—the sex is great, out of this world in fact, but you make me happy when we’re not having sex too. Even when you annoy me, because you can be a total condescending ass sometimes when you think you’ve got me figured out. And dammit Seungcheol, you didn't expect me to be good at this, right? Because I'm pretty sure I just insulted you in the process of trying to tell you I love you and, fuck, it's probably really weird to be announcing it like that, but I, you know, well, know you know. Anyway—we should date.”

And that's when Seungcheol grins, blinding and all-encompassing, and reaches out, drawing Jihoon close. His hand is on the small of Jihoon's back and his smile is inching closer to Jihoon's mouth and his eyes are soft and fond and  _happy_ , happy like Jihoon's never seen.

"Jihoon," he says, the undercurrent of a laugh in his tone, "I'm going to do you a favour now, and shut you up."

"Oh god,  _please_ ," Jihoon says, and then Seungcheol is kissing him, and he forgets how to speak at all.

Seungcheol's mouth is warm and obliging, and when Jihoon presses his tongue shamelessly past his lips, he's rewarded with the feeling of fingers threading through his hair, of Seungcheol's other hand warm at his neck, a soft but insistent pressure guiding him closer.

By the time Jihoon pulls back for air he's got his arms around Seungcheol's shoulders, and he doesn’t want to let go.

“Okay—so _that’s_ my cue to leave.” Seungkwan says, standing somewhere behind them.

Jihoon ignores him. As does Seungcheol.

"Come home with me," Jihoon murmurs.

He's so close Seungcheol’s features are a little blurry, a little out of focus, but he still catches the bemused quirk of eyebrows Seungcheol gives him in response.

“Can I squish your toe beans?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, long sufferingly.

“ _Fine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I really liked this universe, so I wanted to explore it a little more.....  
> 2) Jihoon being a cat, doing cat things too was something I needed to get out of my system. Because Jihoon is a freaking cat.  
> 3) I'm allergic to cats, so don't own one myself, but a friend of mine was describing her cat's midnight zoomies and it really cracked me up. Apparently it's something all cats do?? Because they're instinctively predators that hunt at night and so act like complete maniacs randomly when they need to burn off excess energy. :D  
> 4) Anyway, if you're interested in reading more from this verse, I have a few ideas rolling around my head still.....  
> 5) Thank you for reading, and feedback always appreciated!


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